The Hanging Tree: My Dearly Beloved
by Wingardium Leviosa 2137
Summary: My take on the origins of the song 'The Hanging Tree' because love survives, even after death. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. All rights yadda yadda yadda go to Suzanne Collins. So this is my first HG fanfic. It might be a little messy because I got excited and I'm not the best at editing:)**

* * *

**~*The Hanging Tree*~**

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three_  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Where the dead man called out for his love to flee_  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free_  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me._

_Strange things did happen here,_  
_No stranger would it be,_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

He couldn't stand to watch Her suffer any longer. The Man closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh before heaving himself off of the floor and trudge outside. He didn't glance back at the humble building that was home to himself and his beloved wife. It was a constant reminder of the poverty, the starvation and the disparity they lived in. Bare wooden walls, a dirt floor and only a bed, table and two rickety chairs adorned it's small interior.

And then He heard a gunshot.

The previous winter had been harsh. So harsh, in fact, that the cold had carried over to spring and the harvest was poor. Shipments out of District 11 were low. This had caused excessive hunger for many districts, even among the wealthier families. And The Man and his wife were starving. Normally, many residents with the ability would slip through the fence bordering the meadow and hunt for game to feed them but due to the current unrest among the people, a fresh wave of Peacekeepers had been sent in to monitor their every action. Desperate people did desperate things, which the Peacekeepers saw to punishing them for. The Man was desperate. What lengths would he go to? Would he be punished?

Punishment or no, he had to do something. He refused to sit and watch as his love slowly withered away. Even now, He knew She sat at home, on the floor beside their bed. Her feet would be curled up to her chest, her arms crossed over top of them. Her head would be pressed against the quilt that hung over the mattress. He knew it well as She hadn't moved for days. Not since the fever took over. Not since She was so weak from hunger that every breath was a travail.

The Man looked down at himself, unsurprised to see how poorly his own clothing fitted him. His shirt hung limply over his thin arms but bulged slightly over his belly. He was bloated, He knew. Due to a lack of nutrition, it was filled with mere air, distending it slightly. He was disgusted at himself, at everyone, mostly at the Capitol who sat oblivious to it's dying citizens.

His rage fueled his steps as He fought to keep moving.

And then he heard a gunshot.

He dared to slip beneath the fence of District 12 into the woods. He retrieved his bow and quiver of arrows from a hollow long and took off as far as he could go before he became too winded.

The Man sat atop a knoll overlooking a large valley; the uninhabited wilderness of Panem. Was there life out there in the unknown? A fleeting thought caused his heart to skip a beat. Was it possible? Could he leave this place he despised for a better life? No, He knew that He would be caught. Even as He may be caught now. After an hour He had procured two plump squirrels and hurried back home.

The fence was off as usual but there was a guard some 100 meters to his left. The Man stood stock still, waiting and listening. This was not the first time he had had to do so. More than once he thought he may be found but he never was. Not yet.

When the Peacekeeper's back was turned The Man sprint as fast as he could until he was well out of sight. He strolled between the decrepid houses, the squirrels hidden in the small sack that was tucked in his jacket. He nodded to an elderly man sitting on his front porch. He was a distant relative but not someone the man knew well. The Old Man held a carving knife in his hand, whittling a bowl from a block of wood. A bowl that may never be filled.

A sudden sadness filled The Man as he continued his walk home. In an alley between two houses lay a little boy, not much older than six or seven, dead. His every bone was easily visible, his skin taunt over the protruding belly that indicated his starvation. He had the olive skin and dark hair of the Seam. He didn't look quite so different from The Man's own son, whose life was taken years ago...

She looked up with joyful eyes for the first time in days when The Man revealed the meat. The meat was good. Her fever had abated. Their hunger was gone; the night quiet.

And then He heard a gunshot.

Springing to the window, rejuvenated from the meal, The Man saw a horrific sight. In the street outside their house, The Old Man lay, dead. In his hand he clutched the knife that had been powerless to the Peacekeepers' firearms.

"Go." He said to his wife. She understood without further instruction. They we coming here next. She hid beneath the bed as The Man opened the door hesitantly. "Evenin' men, can I help you?" He tried to keep his tone conversational, pleasant even. But notes of bitter hatred, resentment and even fear were evident within his forced words and pseudo smile.

"Come with us." The Peacekeepers left no options, but pulled on The Man's arms, yanking him out of the doorway. They twisted his shoulders so his arms were behind him and put him in handcuffs. Just as he lifted his head, so her's too lifted just enough so that their eyes met. Grey, Seam eyes. "Flee" He whispered. And then nothing.

The Man came to consciousness minutes later, beneath a large oak tree near the town square. The square where his sister had been reaped. The Peacekeepers stood round him, guns aimed at his head. One of them forced him to stand and then led him to a stool beneath the tree.

A thousand thoughts ran through his head. What was going on? What happened? Why had they killed The Old Man? Who else died at their hands today? He thought of the other two gun shots. Who were they?

"This man," Another Peacekeeper spoke to a crown gathered around the tree. "Faces the penalty of death for killing three men." The accusation was incorrect, of course. The Man struggled to come up with a reason for the false accusation. And it came to him almost instantly. The guard had seen him that day. He had been caught poaching and the penalty was death. But the district couldn't know that he was truly being punished for poaching. If they knew that he had successfully hunted it would give them too much hope. They weren't allowed to hope. And so he swallowed the defiance and stood stoically atop the stool. Three gun shots. Three men murdered. But not by his hand. He knew he had been manipulated.

Then why had those men died? Had they too broke the law? They were victims of the Capitol's hate, surely, but for what reason? The Man would never find out.

His eyes searched the crowd, more hungry than his stomach had ever been, searching for those eyes the same color as his own. Eyes that held the same pain and the welling of tears. He found them quickly and shook his head ever so slightly. It was too late for them. "Come with me" The man mouthed to her and She turned away, not letting him see her cry.

The Peacekeeper who had spoken then took a coil of rope and fitted it around his neck. He found her eyes again. "A pretty necklace"

And then the stool was kicked from beneath him and he knew no more.

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three_  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Where the dead man called out for his love to flee_  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free_  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me._

_Strange things did happen here,_  
_No stranger would it be,_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

She walked around the base of the tree, her quiet tread forming a rut in the dirt. She heard, almost as if it were a dream, his words calling out to her. He begged her to just do it, as a final act of rebellion. She closed her eyes and breathed in the chilly night air. I will. She promised.

The next morning She went to the meadow and under the fence. She made direct eye contact with the guard stationed there. He said nothing.

She found her lost love's bow and arrows and took aim at a large turkey, two rabbits and a woodchuck. She got them all. She managed to make it to the black market, a small building on the town's outskirts, before they caught her. She thrust the game bag at an old woman standing beside a pot of stew. The Woman didn't resist when the Peacekeepers dragged her away. She kept her head high and stood with dignity on her stool as they accused her of stealing from the bakery. The Peacekeeper who said this had a loaf of bread hidden in his pocket.

The stool needn't be kicked, The Woman stepped off of it on her own accord. And so She joined her beloved.

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three_  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Where the dead man called out for his love to flee_  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free_  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

_Are you, Are you_  
_Coming to the tree_  
_Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me._

_Strange things did happen here,_  
_No stranger would it be,_  
_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._


End file.
